Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“What do you have on her?” he asked, all business now.
“Nothing. Yet. She’s more stubborn than I expected. Stronger, too.”
“That the only reason?”
“Excuse me?”
“I know how difficult women can be.”
“I kidnapped a girl, and she’s actually tied up in a cabin. You tried to kidnap a girl, got a blowjob, and she stole your gun. Now she’s your wife and leads you around by your cock. We are not the same.”
Pavel stared me down for a beat—then burst out laughing.
“Okay, first of all, fuck you. Second, point taken. But seriously—we need answers. Gregor and Artem won’t wait forever.”
“What are they planning?”
“I don’t know,” Pavel admitted. “But this shook them. I was grabbed very close—too close—to the compound. Gregor’s doubled security. Artem’s talking about buying a helicopter. I caught Kostya trying to teach Marina how to shoot.”
“How’d that go?”
He winced. “Let’s just say, if she ever cooks for you—you love it. And she’s too damn good for him.”
“Is her aim that bad?”
“I don’t want to find out.”
He shifted, his tone dropping. “Gregor and Artem want a message sent. Soon. They’re not the only ones out for blood on this.”
I nodded. “You get anything off Mateo during your interrogation?”
“He was high and pissed off he had to answer to a woman. Apparently, that was my fault. The fucker wasn’t even asking questions.”
“She didn’t order the beating,” I muttered.
“I know. Doesn’t change anything. They worked for her. She’s not innocent.”
“I never said she was.” I raised my hands. “Give me a little time. I’ll break her.”
“Time’s not something we have. Not with how close this attack hit.”
“Then I better get to work,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder.
He cursed and flipped me off as I walked away.
Tension coiled tightly in my gut.
I understood Pavel. I understood the need for revenge.
Hell, I encouraged it.
Messages only mattered when they were brutal and absolute.
But I didn’t want to break Zoya.
I wanted to tame her.
Keep the fire, the fury—but bend it to me.
Let her fight when it suited me. Submit when it suited me more.
But there wasn’t time for that.
This would have to be fast.
It would have to be brutal.
Zoya was running out of time.
And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.
CHAPTER 13
ZOYA
I’d been screaming for the last hour, and no one bothered to come in.
Roman had left some time ago.
He stormed out of the room, pissed off—his fragile male pride wounded as I laughed in his face.
He thought I had won that round, and I was perfectly content letting him believe it.
Roman didn’t need to know the way he fed me was one of the more intimate moments of my life.
It wasn’t necessary for him to know the need painted on my face was real.
And there was absolutely no way I was going to tell him it was the best meal I ever had.
I’d rather die than admit I was so easily seduced by a man who probably heated something up from a restaurant to-go container and then fed me.
It was easier to bury the hunger and throw it back in his face.
I mocked him. Insulted him. And just like I knew he would, he stormed out, giving me a few moments to clear the hormones from my brain and get myself under control.
Before the door closed all the way, he told someone that no one was to go in or out of this room.
So I wasn’t alone.
There was at least one guard on the other side of that door. I wasn’t sure how big the house was, but I’d bet there were a few others.
They were going to be how I escaped.
I needed the closest guard to break his orders and come in. Help me. Free me.
There was no way I could get out of the shackles on my own. They were too strong, and the bastard had made sure they were tight enough that I couldn’t dislocate my thumb and slip free.
“Hey! Can you come in here? I need help, and I’ll pay you!” I yelled.
Nothing.
“I have more money than God! Whatever you want!”
Finally—footsteps.
I locked my attention onto the bronze door handle, waiting for it to turn.
Instead, a low voice came through the door. “Doesn’t matter how much you offer. We’d be dead before we spent a cent. You’re stuck. Best tell the boss what he wants. Maybe he’ll make your death a quick one.”
I scoffed.
The voice continued. “Lady, I don’t know what you did to piss off the Ivanov devil, but I’d pick a god and start praying. He isn’t known for mercy.”
The footsteps faded, and a scream ripped out of me, tearing through my already-raw throat.
Of course he was a fucking Ivanov.
He was there for Pavel.
I didn’t realize it at first; Roman didn’t look Russian. But the more I thought about his sharp features, his square jaw, and the way he called me printsessa, I realized he wasn’t mocking me.